


Blaze

by agentlemanneverlies



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Fever, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2653424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentlemanneverlies/pseuds/agentlemanneverlies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night Judal returns, he doesn't trust his senses, his mind already lost in a fit of fevered hopes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blaze

**Author's Note:**

> I recently started watching Magi, and within two days, have become completely immersed in the fandom, despite the fact that I've hardly scratched the series as a whole. This was the result of a fanfic binge at 3 AM earlier this week. Oops.

Cold. He’d woken in a near frigid sweat, his once smooth silken robes clinging to his skin uncomfortably. He wondered why in the world he’d chosen to sleep in these robes, only to recall that, they had been sewn for this very purpose. He shivered. The room felt cold, yet, as he blinked away his sleep induced delirium, he realized that it should not. In the far corner, just beyond his large and elegant wardrobe, a fire thrived within its cage. No doubt his advisor had lit it for him the night before. The fire flickered and glistened about, taking the air as its dance partner in the captivating display of light and heat. In a way, the flames beckoned him, consumed him, and made him feel as though he were mere inches away. And just so, the icy feeling that had washed over him vanished.

Heat. The longer he gazed towards the illuminated corner of the room, the more he became aware of the burning sensation flooding over his entire being, a swelling in his tongue, dry and sore from dehydration, and a stinging in his eyes, bloodshot and dilated from his current state. The flames mocked him, for though they held an intensity like nothing he’d seen before, they appeared arctic in contrast to his own skin. He burned and he ached, he fidgeted restlessly on his now drenched bedding, and he tried to clear the blurriness that had once more settled over his eyes. His vision was skewed. One second the fire was moving with the subbetly and speed of a light breeze, yet in a flash it would change; a tiger would leap from the blaze and slice through his composure with it’s temperature. 

Dizzy from the warmth of the room, he feebly tossed his legs over the side of his bed. He set one foot onto the hard flooring, his toes melting from the fervency. Yet, his attempts to stand were futile; his legs lacked their usual vigor and strength. Rather than raising him up to stand level with his kingly pride, his weakened limbs buckled under the strain of his weight, sending him tumbling against the burning floor. The abruptness of the motion forced a cry from his parched lips, but his voice had become hoarse and the strongest sound he could muster was a choked gasp. 

His head ached terribly, the pain throbbing fiercely in time with the dancing of the fire surrounding him. The room was bright, much too bright in his opinion, yet he could do nothing more than close his eyes, focus on his ragged and disruptive breathing, and let the inferno swallow him whole. If a man could sink into the flooring, he thought, it would be here and now. No matter how much he squirmed, thrashed, or flailed, the heat would not dissipate. It seemed to grow even more intense with each passing second, and before he could realize what it was he was doing, his hands were clawing fiercely at his eyelids, trying desperately to rid his body of its most predominant ache. Every part of him tingled and buzzed with a dulled pain, leaving him feeling as though he’d been thrown into a wall several times over. The heat, it seemed, only served to full this pain onward.

A sudden rush of cold on his fevered head parted his delirium, and pulled one eye open. Through his addled mind, all he could accurately make out was a long wisp of black. Was that-?

_“Honestly, you idiot king… I leave you be for a couple of months and you manage to fall ill…”_

“Judal,” he murmured, his words slurred and agonizingly slow. He blearily gazed at the newcomer, trying desperately to make out the familiar face he associated with that sultry voice. It had been far too long since he’d seen Judal in person — he’d nearly forgotten his face. He released a pathetic whine, recalling the weeks of isolation he’d experienced after the sudden disappearance of the magi. It was then, that a state of panic overcame him, sending his body into a series of worry filled convulsions. Judal had, on numerous occasions, made appearances in his dreams. What if this Judal was just like those others? What if he was just an illusion dreamt up by his own fever addled mind? What if when he woke in the morning, Judal wasgone once more? He wasn’t sure he could go through that all over again.

Choking back a sob, he gripped weakly at the hem of Judal’s pants. “Y-you… You left me!” 

A gentle hand was placed over his forehead, soothingly rubbing away his sweat soaked bangs and taming a bit of his unchecked paranoia. _“Shhh…”_ Judal whispered, _“it was necessary. You dumbass, you can’t even…”_ He stopped listening then, feeling emotions explode in his mind and further add to the burns he felt from the room. Everything was too much. The loneliness, the pain, the bitter apathy he had tried to convince himself to feel — all these and more rushed through his head, and he cowered against the edge of his royally crafted bed, clutching at his knees as his whimpers and hiccups drowned out the sound of fire. _Judal had left him, and he would leave him alone again._

Suddenly, there was a familiar strength supporting his bulky form, and he found himself no longer lying on the rock floor, but on a heavenly mound of fluff. He became aware of a new kind of warmth, a warmth that did not torture his very existence; Judal. Judal had lain beside him, stroking his hair lovingly. The effect was near instant; his hysteria dissipated, and he relaxed against Judal. _“Sin… Sinbad… Do you honestly believe I’d leave you because I wanted to? Okay, yes I would… But not for that long. You’re such a god damn idiot…”_

Judal’s hand stopped it’s motions, and something cold and wet was placed gently over his brow. He shivered. Although it felt nice, and brought a well desired relief to his unrelenting heat, he missed his lover’s hand. “Ju… Judal…”

_“Shhh… Just sleep…”_

Sinbad found, that for the first time in his life, he was unable to keep his mind running any longer. Mumbling slews of nonsense to no one in particular, he eventually, succumbed to his feverish desire to rest.

*

When he woke in the morning, Sinbad was painfully aware of two things. Firstly, the sun was far too bright; he’d be sure to fix that later. Secondly, Judal was no longer within his bedchambers. He sighed, feeling utterly drained. He should have expected it — Judal did what he damn well pleased, and though he claimed to care deeply for the Sindrian king, he often left. It was just in his nature. Sooner or later he’d tire of each toy and look for a new one. Sinbad cursed his luck for falling for such a man.

If one good thing came upon his waking, it was that his fever had broken in the night. He felt clearer, more alert, and ready to actually hold a conversation beyond a few unintelligible mumbles. Yet, he still felt down. Judal’s absence often did that to him.

His door clicked open, and Sinbad rolled away and squished his face into a pillow, not wishing to deal with his advisor, or any of his kingly duties. “Ja’far… M’not in th’mood.” Really, he had reason to play lazy that day; he’d only just recovered from a horrific illness that had likely spanned several days. He’d lost track after the first hour of his delirium. However, the voice that answered was definitely not Ja’far. Sinbad whipped himself up, quite surprised by the appearance of his lover. He was dressed as darkly as ever, yet there was a charitable air to him. Perhaps that aura came from the tray of sliced fruits he carried.

“I see you’re doing much better,” Judal scoffed. “Think you can handle some food?” Upon seeing Sinbad’s unyielding stare, he raised a brow. “What? See something you like?”

Sinbad murmured, “you stayed.”

“Yes, I tend to do that from time to time. A man’s got to keep some promises you know or else he’s just a liar.”

Sinbad’s awe only seemed to grow with each passing second. “You stayed.”

“Yes, we’ve established this.” Judal rolled his eyes. This was getting nowhere. “Do you want food or not?”

Judal’s question was answered when Sinbad grabbed his closer arm and pulled him onto the bed, clashing their lips together. It was sudden, yet intimate, and it conveyed Sinbad’s final message; ‘don’t ever leave me’.

If the food ended up on the floor, it was the least of Sinbad’s concerns. 

 


End file.
